At The Throat of the World
by Cinis
Summary: Years after Harkon's death, Serana climbs the Throat of the World, called by Thu'um, and wonders what went wrong so much that she lost her mother, her father, and the Dragonborn. A retelling of the Dawnguard story, without the Dawnguard and with Serana as the central protagonist.
1. Vahdin

A/N: So this story was born out of a desire to do NaNoWriMo (this is my sixth year. whoo. i guess.) and procrastinating on midterms and other various deadlines. Because procrastination. right.

The idea behind this story was to retell the Dawnguard expansion storyline without the Dawnguard, only focused around Serana and the theme of family. Serana is the nicest person in Skyrim (TVTropes calls her one tenth of the writing budget .) and Harkon and Valerica are the shittiest parents in Skyrim. So I wanted to do a story that worked around that dynamic. The story will have the Dragonborn, but not the Dawnguard, and will cover the major points of the normal plot but with some additions, subtractions, sidequests, and with Serana as the protagonist marching back and forth across the holds. So obviously I have a lot of ideas running around my head so I'll shut up and get along with things.

Hopefully I can do "one tenth of the writing budget" her due credit.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Elder Scrolls. Nope. And I'm not making a profit off of fanwork. Otherwise I'd be happy in life. Sometimes I quote from the game. I didn't write those quotes.

* * *

**At The Throat of the World - Prologue - Vahdin**

* * *

_Though Serana never felt the cold of Skyrim, she was acutely aware of the weather as she set her foot on the first step of the seven thousand that wound up the Throat of the World. Above her, dark grey skies were pregnant with storms. A blizzard might trap her beneath an avalanche of ice and snow or lead her off the path to a worse fate. The pilgrimage to High Hrothgar was not undertaken lightly. But whatever savage Skyrim had in store for her, Serana couldn't afford a delay._

_The call had resounded from mountain peak to mountain peak, ringing in valleys and shaking the leaves of trees. "Serana," it had said, "Serana, Serana, Serana." She'd left Volkihar Keep as soon as she'd heard it, ignoring the questions and warnings of the others._

_The journey to the mountain was swift. She traveled south-east, past Solitude, over Dragon's Bridge, across the plains, along paths that had changed since she'd last traversed them not at all, until she saw the Throat of the World on the horizon, and then until the peak loomed directly above. On the way the she stopped only a few times to rest and feed._

_The call still echoed in her head._

_She counted the steps to keep her mind occupied – seven, eight, nine – but – ten, eleven, twelve - the memories came nevertheless._

* * *

As a child, Serana cuts her finger playing in the training yard with the soldier's knives. She cries and runs to her father, tears streaming down her cheeks. When he sees her he sets down his sword and picks up his daughter. He cradles her to his chest and hushes her like a good father should.

She shows him her bloodied finger and he smiles kindly. "Don't fret, my child," he says. "I'll make it better." A soft golden glow envelops the wound. He bends his head and licks away the blood until she can see the cut is gone. "There."

Serana laughs in amazement and her father sets her down. "Be careful!" he shouts as she skips away.

From the balcony, Valerica frowns. 

* * *

When Serana's mother leaves for the ritual, the child is scared witless. She clings to her mother's leg and begs, "Don't go, don't go, there are bad things there!"

Harkon pries the girl off and holds her, kicking and screaming and biting. "Shhh," he said, "Don't fret, don't fret. Your mother is a strong woman, she'll be fine. And when she comes back, she'll be stronger than ever, and happier as well. She'll be a hunter among sheep, a god among men."

Children can spot lies, but Harkon doesn't realize he's lying.

Valerica brushes a few stray hairs from her daughter's face. "I'll be back," she says. "Everything will be alright."

Later, Valerica does come back. She's not the same. Her eyes are funny, just like Serana's father's.

* * *

When Serana's turn comes, she's still scared witless. But now an adult's knowing fear has replaced the child unknowing horror, and it's worse. Much worse. She's grown up, and no one bothered keeping those sorts of secrets anymore.

Serana, anointed crimson in the blood of the still-dying, looks back and sees Harkon and Valerica.

"You'll survive," her mother says. She purses her lips and crosses her arms over her chest. She's lying and she knows it.

"You'll be fine," her father says. "And when this is over, you'll feel amazing. You will never die." He smiles. He doesn't understand. At all. It is utterly amazing the extent to which he does not understand.

They're behind her, so she can't go back. So the only way is forward, into the fjords.

Serana doesn't remember what happened that night, though it haunts her nightmares for the rest of her existence. She dreams of agony, terror, broken fingernails on sharp rock, a throat too raw to scream, laughter, and whispers.

When she returns home, limping, broken, naked but for her own blood, no one is waiting. Harkon and Valerica have already gone to sleep in their beds. Though a day ago she might have been angered that they didn't wait, now she is only relieved.

Day by day she relearns herself while she pieces who she is back together. She's not sure all the pieces are there, and what pieces there are certainly do not fit. Harkon keeps his distance because she tells him to. Valerica need not be told. Every day is a little bit better – except for the days that are worse.

But years pass and then a century. She can't stay shattered forever. 

* * *

After a while, time loses all meaning. Immortality is boring.

Serana often leaves the castle to travel around Skyrim, passing the time. She dances with the drauger, watches dragons wheel across the night sky, laughs at lords fighting for kingship, listens to bards begin ancient tales, eats whom she pleases and follows where her wants lead her. It's not a bad life.

Sometimes she goes home.

Harkon and Valerica too have found ways to amuse themselves. He spends his nights pouring over scrolls in his study and every morning at dawn he leaves his apartments to watch the sun rise over the sea. She rarely graces the castle proper with her presence, preferring instead to play with spells and potions in some hidden part of the estate.

It's not like Serana actually wanted to see them, she tells herself.

One night she enters the castle, home from a brief meal in Solitude, and finds them both standing in the great hall, arguing. She's so surprised to see them together that she almost doesn't even notice what they're arguing about. Almost. It's hard not to notice Harkon bragging about his genius and Valerica screaming that he'll kill them all.

Later, she hears from one of Harkon's minions exactly what he's planning. It's ridiculous. Impossible. A flight of Harkon's previously unknown overactive imagination. She says as much to both of them. It doesn't go well, so she leaves for a few years.

When she returns, it's become miserable. Each night at the banquet tables Harkon and Valerica argue. At first Serana doesn't listen. Their misguided lives are their own. She leaves for another few years. And then she returns and they're still fighting so she leaves and again and again and again, every time a little worse.

Eventually Serana stops leaving. She doesn't tell anyone, but she's scared one day she'll come back and someone will be dead. Or everyone. But as long as she's there, she can keep the peace. She's the only child, the beloved daughter. They won't shy away from the fight for her sake, but when she intervenes they both storm away from one another, Harkon to his study and Valerica to her garden. She doesn't follow them when they leave. It's pointless.

For a time, the situation remains static.

Then one night Serana steps in front of her father just as he's about to lash out, just like always, but this time he's too angry and he doesn't stop himself. Instead of striking his wife, he sends his daughter flying across the room. Serana crashes into one of the tables, sending cutlery flying with a deafening crash which is followed by dead silence. No one speaks and no one moves. When Harkon realizes what he's done, he apologizes on bended knee, begging forgiveness. Serana gives it to him because there's nothing else to be done. And maybe this time he'll change. But she's terrified he won't.

He's not normally good at sensing moods, but this time he realizes she's still upset. He tries to hug her, but she flinches from his embrace and slips away. As she heads to her room, she silently curses her preternatural hearing because she has to listen to every word they say behind her. Everyone else in the castle can hear too.

"You know she hates being touched," says Valerica.

"You say that like it's my fault."

"It's not?"

"I didn't know!"

"How could you not know?"

"I knew what would happen, I didn't know what it would do to her."

"How could you not know? Your own daughter."

"You're her mother. You knew and you didn't say anything."

"It wouldn't have changed anything. I can never go against you."

"Isn't that what you're doing now?"

"Of course! You're going to kills us all!"

"I'm doing this for her, so she'll-"

"You're ending our world for her? You-

Serana closes her door, cutting off their voices. She lies down on her bed and cries herself to sleep.

That morning, Serana wakes to Valerica shaking her. "Come with me," Valerica says. "I have a plan. Everything will go back to how it was before." Valerica grabs Serana's wrist and pulls her daughter along to the waiting boat.

* * *

The last thing Serana remembers before the stones slide shut around her is her mother's face. "This is only temporary. When this is over, things will be good again," Valerica lies. "I'll come get you when it's safe. Until then, just sleep. And when you wake…"

Serana smiles for her mother and closes her eyes. She smells briar heart and canis root and she's tired. Sleep will be good.

* * *

_She was only a hundred steps up and already the wind was trying to knock her off her feet. She glanced up at the sky. There were still dark storm clouds blotting out the sun and the blizzard hadn't yet descended. Small blessings. It would be a long climb._

* * *

A/N: So yeah. Tell me what you think?


	2. Aak, part one

Disclaimer: I quote extensively from the game in this chapter. Those lines are not mine.**  
**

* * *

**At The Throat of the World - Chapter One – Aak, part one**

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fos monah saag wah fril mon  
gein fend pel au ven ahrk lom

* * *

Serana smelled blood even before she opened her eyes, even before she collapsed on the ground in a heap.

One thing at a time.

As she pushed herself up she opened her eyes and saw a woman standing over her – a woman who was not a vampire. Why would Valerica send a human to wake her? Valerica wouldn't. Serana rose to her feet warily and the strange woman stepped back. Harkon wouldn't have sent a human either. Something went wrong. Her senses were fogged. She tasted dust in her mouth. How long had it been? She had closed her eyes only moments ago, but that wasn't true, not really. "Unh… Where is…" She paused, trying to figure out exactly what she was trying to ask. It's hard. She smelled blood. "Who… who sent you here?"

Thoughts spun in and out of Serana's head like demented mage lights. The last thing she remembered was Valerica promising to pacify Harkon and then wake her. If Valerica had not come to wake her, if Harkon had not come, if no one from the court had come… What was the fate of her family?

The woman, a Nord by the look of her – or maybe a Breton – shifted nervously. No, not nervously, Serana thought, pushing her mind to ignore her hunger and the maelstrom of fearful thoughts assaulting her. Purposefully. She was a warrior, dressed in hard leather, carrying a drawn sword, and she was shifting her weight in case Serana attacked. She wasn't wrong to do so. The idea had crossed the vampire's mind. The human's blood, coming from a nasty wound in her left hand, smelled of all things good in the world. But in that moment, such plans left her. Serana didn't know how long she'd actually been sleeping. She had no idea how strong she still was. There were dead bodies, slain over an hour ago judging by the stale smell of spilt blood, a short distance away. Hard as it was to admit, the warrior would likely be able to best her in a fight. She was hungry, but not hungry enough to die for it.

The woman replied, speaking slowly as if she were choosing every word with care, "Who were you expecting?" Her voice was quiet but filled with a power that did not come from volume.

Serana watched the woman's angular face beneath her leather and steel helm, her blue eyes, the slight wrinkles in her pale skin, for some clue as to what the warrior was thinking, but in vain. All she could tell from the woman's flickering gaze was that she was being sized up, evaluated as a potential threat, and judged. Fear crept into the pit of her stomach. She was weak and alone. Valerica had left her defenseless. Even if she wasn't cut down, how could she find her way home without help? She was at the unknown warrior's mercy. She needed to give an answer that would satisfy the woman but also avoid revealing anything… volatile. "I was expecting… someone like me, at least."

"What do you mean like you?" Again, the woman measured out her speech with care. It was impossible to tell what emotions she might be feeling when every word was so deliberately monotone.

Serana almost laughed in disbelief, but she restrained her expression just in time. The woman's question was precarious. A true answer could provoke the warrior. But what if the woman already knew and was only asking to see if Serana answered truthfully? But there was a hole in the question. "Well, you're… human," Serana said.

It was the woman's turn to laugh, and her laugh shook dust from the cavern ceiling. It was unnerving, to say the least, and Serana now recognized it as the Thu'um. With her next question, the warrior abandoned restraint in her voice. She now sounded like a real person, curious and perhaps even friendly, albeit a frightfully powerful real person. "Why were you locked away like this?" The words had an almost physical presence and a sense of compulsion to answer went with them. It was good, Serana thought, that she had not tried to fight the woman. Never before had she encountered a Master of the Voice with so much raw power that it leaked into their casual conversations.

Serana had never had much cause to manipulate people, and thus she had little experience in it, but she needed to now. Instinctively, she knew she needed to be honest and sound vulnerable. "That's… complicated and I'm not totally sure I can trust you," Serana said. But in order to get out of the cave, she realized, she'd have to trust the woman at least a little. She didn't have a choice. And perhaps some small show of faith would help her cause? "If you want to know the whole story, please, help me get back to my family's home."

Like magic the woman's demeanor relaxed. She didn't shift her posture or anything so drastic, she probably wasn't even aware herself that she'd been put off guard, but to Serana's keen eyes, tense muscles loosened and hard eyes softened. "And where is that?"

"My family lives on an island to the west of Solitude."

"I can take you there," said the woman. "But I want to ask some questions first. I think you'll agree it's only natural."

Serana nodded her assent. It would be a simple game. She would be asked questions, and if she answered correctly, she'd get an armed escort and guide home. And if she answered incorrectly – well, she wouldn't.

"How long were you in there?"

An easy question to answer, though the answer itself... "Good question," said Serana. "It's hard to say. I can't really tell. I feel like it was a long time. Who is Skyrim's High King?"

"That's actually a matter for debate," replied the woman.

"Oh, wonderful. A war of succession. Good to know the world didn't get boring while I was gone. Who are the contenders? I assume Harald is among them."

"The empire supports Elisif, but there are many in Skyrim who are loyal to Ulfric."

Elisif? Ulfric? "Empire? What empire?"

The woman's face shifted into open shock. "The empire from Cyrodiil," she said.

Serana imagined she herself must have looked as confused as the woman she stood across from. "Cyrodiil is the seat of an empire?" She hadn't even heard stirrings of that. "I must have been gone longer than I thought." It was amazing she even spoke the same language as the woman.

The woman whistled. A sign of amazement, perhaps? More dust fell from the cavern ceiling. "Next question. Is that an Elder Scroll on your back?"

Serana had forgotten it was there. Valerica had taken both of Harkon's scrolls from his study when they left the castle. One she had given to her daughter, the other she had kept for herself. "Yes," Serana said. "And it's mine." She let a hint of jealous anger slip into her voice. People who were too nice didn't feel genuine.

The woman didn't press the issue. "Last question. You seem amicable enough. Are you going to attack me for my blood?"

The question took Serana off guard. So the woman knew after all. Even so she wouldn't have expected so direct a query. "No!" she hastily answered. Then, to lessen the effect of the panic in her tone, she added, "I'm not planning on it, at least. You're helping me. I don't really know why, but you are, and I'm very grateful. Don't bleed on me and there won't be a problem. I…" Serana hesitated, partly for effect and partly because she wasn't sure how much she was willing to actually share. She had to trust the woman if she wanted to get home. "I just need to get back to my mother and father." Mother and father? Hah. She hadn't thought those thoughts in so long. "I need to find out what happened, if they're even still alive."

"Hm," said the woman. "What can I say? I like helping people. It's how my mother raised me and it puts meaning in life, don't you think? There's something I need to see a little deeper into this cave though, so we'll go that way first. And I've been through enough of these ruins to know there should be a shortcut out if we go in deep enough." She turned and began to walk away, then stopped and turned to Serana again. "I'm not sure I like the idea of a hungry vampire at my back."

Serana froze. The woman's tone was contemplative but her words sounded like a threat. There was enough distance that if the warrior attacked, Serana could probably defend herself even in her weakened state, but… If Serana's heart still beat, she imagined she'd be able to hear it. That was how books always described fear. It seemed irrational, the woman had declared she'd help, but it was real nonetheless.

When the warrior raised her hand though, it wasn't the hand holding the sword. Blood still oozed out of the puncture wound – a hole straight through the palm, it was a wonder the woman wasn't on the floor screaming in pain – and the smell of it washed over Serana like an ocean wave over a grain of sand. There was so much saliva in her mouth she had to swallow before she asked, "Are you offering?"

"What do you think I'm doing if I'm not?" the woman replied.

It was hard to stop herself from just lunging forward, but Serana's caution overpowered her hunger. "Most people wouldn't offer. Why?"

The woman shrugged "I don't know if you realized it, but when you fell out of that crypt you looked terrified and vulnerable and about to cry. My gut tells me you're not a bad person, and I've learned to go with my instincts. There's no use in always second-guessing yourself. So I'm trusting you. My nerves won't survive a week thinking you're always about to attack me, nor will my conscience survive a week thinking you're always starving. So long as you ask and don't just take, I will do what I can for you."

Serana needed no further prompting. She crossed the distance between them in an instant and took the woman's wounded hand in both of hers. For a moment she glanced up and met the warrior's eyes. They were as unreadable as ever. Serana didn't fully understand why the woman was helping her at all, the idea of just helping someone for the sake of helping them was so foreign to her, but then, did she really need to?

Determined to let nothing of the gift go to waste, she ran her tongue over skin, first the back of the hand, then the palm, tasting dirt and salt mixed in with blood. The blood itself was heady, overwhelmingly so. It was powerpowerpower and had Serana's fangs been in the woman's neck, she would never have stopped drinking, she would have had to be cut away from such a feast. As it was what little she'd gotten so far was not enough. Desperate for more, she pushed her tongue into the wound, cleaning away what blood had already been spilled and sucking hard to coax more from the flesh. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard the woman hiss. Serana herself couldn't be bothered to suppress a moan. She scraped teeth over skin, pushing the ragged edges of the hole aside and worsening the injury with no thought for anything but the blood.

When finally the wound had nothing more to give, Serana released the woman's hand and backed away slowly. Her own lack of control was disturbing. She didn't entirely trust herself not to simply lunge for the woman's neck. That would be a poor repayment for kindness. She briefly wondered how many times over she'd owe the warrior her life by the time she reached home.

"Those were interesting sounds you were making," the woman said lightly. She was smiling, but it didn't reach her guarded eyes.

Serana ignored the comment and licked her lips just in case she'd missed anything. Never in all her immortal years had she tasted blood quite so strong. She looked at the woman, feeling like she was seeing her for the first time. Despite wearing covering armor, she was quite attractive of form and her face had a classic Nordic beauty. But her body was nothing compared to her blood and knowing the power beneath her skin would drive Serana mad if she thought too much about it. An earlier piece of their conversation drifted back to mind. Serana's eyes narrowed. "You're not human."

The woman grimaced, a face impossible to interpret. "I bleed red, don't I? Are you sated enough?"

Nodding, Serana replied, "Yes. Normally I wouldn't be but… you are very powerful. It's intoxicating."

She laughed. The cave shook. "Thank you. We should get going now though. If we don't get out of this cave soon, _I'm_ going to get hungry." That said, the warrior began to walk away briskly.

Serana rushed to catch up. The cavern looked different from when she'd gone to sleep and she didn't want to risk some unknown danger by herself. She felt though, after that meal, she was probably more than strong enough to defend herself. "Aren't you going to ask my name?"

The woman didn't even look at her as she replied, "Names are rather important, don't you think? I was waiting for you to tell me."

"Well, my name is Serana." She paused, waiting for the woman to respond. When the woman didn't, Serana asked, "What's yours?" Too late she realized that the strange woman might find her question rude. She hastily added, "Feeding from someone is rather… intimate. I feel bad not knowing you."

"Well, that explains a lot," the woman said. "People have taken to calling me Dovahkiin."

Serana rolled the syllables around in her head. Dov. Ah. Kiin. It was a dragon's name. Something about it was familiar, as if she'd heard it before. It probably meant something, but only bards knew much about the dragon's language. "Why do they call you that?"

Dovahkiin sighed. "Because the Greybeards call me that, and because Ulfric calls me that, and between the Greybeards and Ulfric the Nords just can't help but use it too," she said. "Philomel is the name my mother gave me. I like it much better."

"Who is this Ulfric?" Serana asked. "You mentioned him before."

"Ulfric Stormcloak is the jarl of Wind- wait…" Philomel froze and looked around. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Serana asked.

In the black of the cave, something roared.

"That!" Philomel yelled. The ceiling rained down stones and then the gargoyles were upon them.

Serana had just enough time to dive out of the way before the granite monster landed with enough force to crack the stone floor right where her face would have been. Almost tripping over herself in her haste, she backed up to put more distance between her and the advancing monster.

What could she do? She silently cursed her mother for dragging her out to wherever she was in the middle of the morning with no warning and no instructions to prepare. She wore lambskin and cloth, poor protection from anything except chafing. She had a knife with a blade only a little longer than her hand. It was good for ritualistic bloodletting and cutting vegetables.

Serana took another step back, then another. She had magic, of course, but what would work against stone? The creature had no blood or life to drain, no organs to pierce… Serana raised her hands and forced magicka through her fingertips, willing it into blinding bolts of lightning. The power arced through the air, crackling madly, until it struck the center of the gargoyle's chest and then bounced off, fizzling away harmlessly. The only evidence that she'd struck the thing at all were a few scorch marks across its dark rocky torso.

Serana grit her teeth and raised her hands again. This time ice spikes shot forward. One glanced off the gargoyle's side, another shattered upon striking its shoulder, a third hit hard enough to stay sticking out of the monster's thigh. All to no avail. The thing kept coming. Again Serana raised her hands but before she could cast another spell she had to roll out of the way to avoid a violent blow aimed to sever her head from her shoulders.

Before she could recover enough to counterattack, the gargoyle swung again and again Serana desperately dodged. She avoided the attack well enough but this time she tripped over an uneven patch of floor and went sprawling face first into the dirt.

What a terrible way to die, she thought. Valerica spirited her off into temporary hiding while executing some great scheme or another, and then she woke up by herself only to be slaughtered by a gargoyle of all things mere minutes later. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the end.

"GOL HAH DOV!"

The end never came.

Cautiously, Serana reopened her eyes and looked up. The gargoyle towered above her, unmoving. Had it returned to its slumber?

Philomel emerged from around it, holding her unsheathed sword. "Sorry, they took me by surprise." She stepped so that she stood directly beneath its head, angled her sword upward, and shoved the blade through so that it pierced from the gargoyle's chin up through its skull. The creature shuddered and then collapsed backwards, as dead as the stone from which it had been made. "Shall we get going then?"

* * *

A/N: Spent the past month obsessing over Once Upon A Time. That fandom has crazy good fanfic and you should check it out. But maybe don't watch the show past season one. I have Opinions. Lots of Opinions.

Also, while this fic was going to be my NaNoWriMo, school got in the way. Also my Once Upon A Time obsession. And then I wanted to just do this chapter, but since I got kicked out of the dorm for Thanksgiving and I forgot to email myself what I had so far (I normally work on my desktop, not my laptop), I ended up just rewriting most of this this evening (meaning I probably forgot to write in half the things I needed for the plot and characters to make sense) and not extending the chapter as far as I'd planned.

It just occurred to me - what happens when Greybeards snore? that could probably be its own oneshot: "When Greybeards Snore: Why Paarthurnax reverted to his maneating ways"


	3. Aak, part two

A/N: I've been really enjoying writing League of Legends crackfic, but I needed a change of genre, so I worked on this.

Disclaimer: A lot of the conversation at the castle is quoted from the game.

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**At The Throat of the World - Chapter Two - Aak, part two  
**

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Serana spat out a mouthful of dirt. "You just… You…" The implications of the warrior's words sank in. "You froze it."

"Eloquent," said Philomel. She sheathed her sword and offered the vampire a hand up.

Fear that had turned to amazement upon looking at the frozen gargoyle turned back to fear. "What are you?" Serana asked once more, ignoring the offered hand and pushing herself up to her feet on her own.

The warrior sighed. "It's a long story. Maybe once we've gotten out of this cave and made camp."

They did not leave the cave and make camp for quite some time. There was another gargoyle, one which Philomel did not Shout into obedience – something about being unable? unwilling? – and then there were draugr.

The first draugr Serana saw, she didn't even recognize as such.

"Draugr aren't monsters!" she insisted. "They're pale. They have blue eyes. But they aren't these… desiccated bones!"

Philomel "Hmmed." "There was a book. _Amongst the Draugr_. Bandien, from the college, wrote it. She had this theory that draugr weren't always this… dead. Fascinating."

"I used to play with the draugr," Serana said. "They were dumb, fun to tease and trick. I don't think I'd have gone near them had they looked like…" She kicked one of the fallen creatures. Its arm fell off. "They're so ugly. Uhg."

"That's easy for you to say, you're pretty. They can't help how they look," said Philomel. "You can't hold it against them."

"Ah…" Serana felt uncomfortable. She'd lived enough to recognize flirting when it was directed at her. But what if she was wrong? And it did seem more likely that she was wrong. What kind of person would make advances on an unknown vampire fallen out of a crypt? Especially a woman. If she were wrong, then it would be presumptuous of her to say anything. But if she were right, then what? It was best, she resolved, to pretend she hadn't noticed and to hope she was wrong. She said nothing.

The rest of their journey out of the cave was spent in delightful silence. The thing that Philomel had wanted to see turned out to be a massive slab of stone with an inscription in it. It was in the tongue of dragons, which Serana recognized though she couldn't read. Philomel had walked up to it, looked at it, made some sort of contemplative noise, and then walked off. Serana had wanted to ask why the wall was so important, but she hadn't wanted to start another conversation. She managed to wait until they were out of the cavern and setting up camp a short distance from the cave entrance before speaking again.

"So you said you'd explain."

The night air was cold, even to Serana, but the cheery crackling of a campfire made things look warmer, even if it did little to ward off the chill. Somehow they'd found enough suitable kindling in the white forest. When the world was so frozen that the snow turned to ice, wood actually dried and remained that way.

Philomel didn't look up from the fire she was tending. "It's complicated." She spoke a little too loudly and the force of her words hit the flames and extinguished them down to cinders. "Ah! Krosis!" she snarled.

"Life is complicated," said Serana as she watched Philomel pull some flint once more.

Philomel held her breath as she tried to coax flames once more. When she'd succeeded, she backed away from the fire before speaking. "You don't think I'm human."

Serana frowned and looked carefully at her companion. The woman hadn't shivered once since they'd left the cave. The campfire was just for show. Serana was practically immune to frost, but even she felt a little cold just looking at the landscape. Freezing was a hard mortal memory to let go of. "I know you're not human."

The warrior dug through her pack and pulled out a few strips of salted and dried horker meat. "The man who begat me was human, as was the woman who birthed me."

"I could say the same," Serana replied with a shrug.

"That you could," Philomel agreed. She tore a chunk of meat off with her teeth, chewed, and swallowed, before continuing. "So that means we are both human, no?"

"I see you like philosophy," Serana said dryly. Not, she thought, that she was complaining. No one back at the court would ever hold a prolonged conversation with her, much less about the meaning of humanity. Back at court… A pang of longing shot through her. It had been a few days for her, but for them?

"Philosophy is necessary," said Philomel. "Otherwise the answers just aren't adequate. And if you've indulged me thus far, I think you're not averse to a little thinking either."

Serana found herself smiling, though she quickly schooled her features back into contemplative indifference. "Amusing as it is, straight answers are nice too."

"If you're fishing for some, it may help your case to actually ask a question," Philomel said.

"Fine then. Are you human?" Serana was fairly sure she already knew the answer. She knew what she had tasted hadn't been mortal. The memory sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

"That depends on your definition of human."

Serana rolled her eyes. Of course it did. She rephrased her question. "Do you think you're human?"

Philomel surprised her by not having a quick rhetorical response. Instead, the mildly infuriating warrior finished her horker first. "No." The word was whispered, but even so it was powerful enough that Serana heard it as if Philomel had shouted.

"So what are you?" Serana asked. She desperately wanted to know. At first she would have said her curiosity was from fear. It had become clear, however, that the stranger had no intention of harming her. At this point she admitted to herself that she just wanted to know more about Philomel.

"I'm not sure," said Philomel. "And I suspect that if I were to know, I'd not be able to explain in words to you… I do know, however, that I'm tired and it's time for me to sleep." She flashed a lopsided grin before lying down on the icy snow and closing her eyes. "Good night."

Serana massaged the bridge of her nose. Philomel's 'good night' had been decisive and terribly awkward enough to stop any prodding about the non-answer she'd given. It had also been… cute. Serana shoved that thought as far into the back of her mind as she could.

And all that left Serana alone sitting next to the dying camp fire. She thought about sleep, but decided against it as soon as she'd thought it. Not only was the moon high in the sky but she'd rested long enough. Even if she were to lay herself down, she doubted she'd be able to sleep.

So she sat.

She liked to think that she'd done a very good job of coping with waking up centuries, at minimum, after going to sleep. She'd done a good job coping with waking up to some stranger who wasn't even sent by Harkon or Valerica. She'd done a good job coping with setting herself on a path back home. Or so she liked to think.

What had become of her family? What had Valerica done? Thoughts held at bay by the adrenaline of her awakening came crashing down.

Valerica had said she'd return, that she'd wake Serana and everything would be good again.

And Serana, remembering when she'd once played with her dolls at her mother and father's feet while they laughed together, holding hands, loving one another, had believed her. And wouldn't it have been nice if it had been true? An end to loneliness. But no one had come to wake her. Valerica put slumber on her eyes and left.

Betrayal bit deep and Serana blinked away tears.

And what of Harkon? Had he known? No, he couldn't have. Valerica's plots were her own. But he should have searched, should have found her. Why didn't he find her?

What was waiting for her back at the castle? Could Valerica have done something to Harkon?

All night questions raged through Serana's mind. And finally, what was she to make of Philomel? The woman's explanation of herself was thoroughly inadequate. And there was something frightening about her. She froze the gargoyle with words alone. Power alone was one thing. Harkon had power. Valerica had power. But Philomel treated her power like it was nothing. She didn't revel in it, she just had it. And she was helping Serana because… because she liked helping people? Frightening.

Philomel stirred when the sun was just beginning to color the night sky. The woman sat up and stretched. When she yawned, snow fell from the trees. The fire had long since died and since neither of them had slept on bedrolls, there was little packing to be done.

Serana had no particular desire to travel by day, but she didn't complain. Philomel was her guide, and if her guide needed daylight to navigate, then so did Serana. "How far is it?" she asked. Her mother had taken them by horse to the barrow, switching horses at waystations and riding hard all the way. Even doing that, it had taken several days to arrive.

"Far," Philomel said. "But it will go fast if we run."

"If we run?" Serana's tone was incredulous. There was no way she was running all day. Maybe she could run all night, maybe, but not all day.

Philomel grinned and it was the grin of a feral beast. She offered her hand to Serana. "Do you trust me?"

Serana hesitated. No. She did not trust this terrifyingly powerful being who acted without care for life or limb and offered help to complete strangers who fell out of stone boxes in the middle of ancient ruins. But should she say so? Doubtful. On the other hand, she suspected that Philomel probably had some sort of lie detector ability in her arsenal of powers. So she said, "Not entirely."

The warrior just laughed and grabbed Serana's hand anyway. "Too bad."

Serana had just enough time to open her mouth to protest when Philomel began to sing,

"Wuld nah kest, wuld nah kest  
Aak dii stig wah oldoz  
Uben ahrol, uben strunmah  
Zeim lumnaar, neben gram"

Serana's feet moved effortlessly. She passed over the snowy ground faster than she'd ever moved before. Trees passed by in a blur of brown and green. She wasn't even quite aware of her own movement, only that her legs were following Philomel's step.

The feeling of rushing so fast through the world was exhilarating. Serana could look up to the sky and see that they were moving faster than the clouds. A burst of surprised laughter escaped her lips.

All the while, Philomel continued to sing, her voice light but overflowing with the joyous power of the Thu'um.

"Wuld nah kest, wuld nah kest  
Aak dii stig wah gut krein  
Neben gram, neben ven  
Zeim vasaar, uben frod"

Serana did not know for how long they traveled in that manner. It was easy to lose herself in the sound of Philomel's voice and the rushing of the wind. She was more alive flying over the land than she'd been in centuries. Finally though, the warrior's voice began to weaken and they slowed, transitioning out of their run. The sun was a little past the midway point in the sky.

A sheen of sweat covered Philomel's brow and the woman was breathing heavily. "Traveling with someone else," she paused to take a deep breath, "makes that a lot harder."

Not yet accustomed to her own legs again, Serana leaned against a large boulder. She had a silly grin on her face. They'd left the forest some time ago and now stood in a white field littered with ice covered stones. In the distance, she could hear the pounding of ocean waves against the shore. "You do that often?"

"How do you think I got to your cave without a horse?"

Serana shrugged. "I thought you walked. Most people would have walked."

Philomel chuckled. "Why walk when you can run? If that was anywhere near as good for you as it was for me, I think you understand."

The undead, Serana noted, could not blush.

Philomel glanced up at the sun and then pointed in a direction. "Come on, let's go. At this rate, we could probably get to Solitude in a day or two. We just need to get in sight of the shore and head west."

As it turned out, they had stopped running not all that far from the shore and in perhaps an hour they'd reached the great ice cliffs that overlooked the endless sea. The roar of the waves filled the salt-scented air. Even for Serana, who had lived centuries on an island, the ocean was breathtaking.

Philomel let out a long, clear note of wonder. Though her words normally shook the earth, her whistle was swallowed by the sound of the sea. "I love it out here."

Serana nodded. "This is one of the places that make life worth living."

The warrior set out along the edge of the ice cliff, happily keeping the very long fall by her side. "Sometimes I wish I lived out here," she mused.

"Why don't you?" Serana asked. "You're powerful enough to live anywhere you wanted."

Philomel gestured to indicate the surrounding landscape. "A bit lonely, don't you think? Hardly a good place to raise a family."

"Well, not here," Serana said. "Winterhold is on the coast. It's a great city."

At that, Philomel laughed – but she laughed a little too loudly and the ice beneath her feet gave way. Only Serana's fast reflexes stopped the warrior from falling to a certain death. The vampire grabbed Philomel's arm just in time and dragged her onto safer footing.

Embarrassed, Philomel dusted a few flakes of snow from her armor. "Thanks. Sometimes… things just happen."

"If you hadn't been walking so close-

"I know," Philomel said, cutting Serana off. "I just wanted to, alright?"

"I was-

"Come on, let's keep walking," said Philomel.

Serana shut her mouth and silently fumed. Her list of adjectives for her companion grew to include two more: ungrateful and obnoxious.

It took several days to traverse the coast. Once or twice they headed inland a ways to a village or inn. When they stopped, Serana took those opportunities to discreetly eat. Though it wasn't her style, she fed only a little on sleepers, leaving no one the wiser.

When they were around other people, Serana noticed, Philomel hardly ever talked. She instead communicated through hand gestures and the rare whisper. Serana noted as well that in every place they stopped, Philomel received respectful glances. Sometimes the guards whispered, but never anything specific, anything that would tell Serana what her companion was, aside from well known.

Finally, on the road to the dock to the north of Solitude, one of the guards murmured something. Clad in the uniform of Haafingar, he bowed his head to Philomel. "Dragonborn." Though Philomel merely nodded in greeting and kept walking, Serana stopped.

"What did you call her?" she asked.

The guard looked at her in surprise. "Miss, you don't know who you're traveling with?"

Serana glanced over at Philomel, who was standing back and saying nothing. "No… what do you mean?"

"This woman is the Dragonborn!" the guard said. "She's the one who defeated Alduin. Have you been living in a cave? How can you not know her? She's a hero to all of Skyrim."

"I'm just an adventurer and a bard," Philomel quietly said, unconvincing to the point of being almost sarcastic. "Really."

"Who happens to have saved the world," said the guard. "You know, I used to be an adventurer too, until I took an arrow to the knee. But not like you… I should get back to my patrol. Good day, Dragonborn, and you, miss." The guard vanished down the well-traveled road, leaving Serana stunned.

"You're a Dragonborn? Why didn't you tell me?" Everything made sense and she wondered how she hadn't put the pieces together herself. Perhaps it was because her books said that a Dragonborn was rare, not even once a generation but maybe once every ten generations. Perhaps she had simply expected 'I'm a Dragonborn' to have been something Philomel would have said when they spoke that first night outside of the cave.

"One of them," said Philomel.

"I thought you said you didn't know what you were," Serana said.

"I told you I didn't understand what I am," Philomel replied. "I didn't lie."

"A fair point," Serana replied. "I believe you." Though she still didn't trust her companion, she'd come to know her fairly well and she thought she understood the other woman's character. "Come. I think I recognize the landscape here, it hasn't changed all that much. My family home is this way." Serana stepped ahead of Philomel and started ahead.

"Nothing this uninhabited ever changes."

Serana lead them to the shore where a small rowboat sat on the beach. It looked decrepit, barely seaworthy. The planking had been long ago worn smooth and there were signs of leaks repaired.

"It's just across the water," Serana said. She pointed out into the fog where nothing could be seen.

"This is where we part ways then," Philomel said. "Unless-

Serana pounced on the opportunity. "I don't even know if they're there," she said. In truth, she was fairly certain they were. Vampires were terribly allergic to change. "I wouldn't mind company looking."

Serana also wouldn't have minded company that stayed with her in the castle. Company stronger than almost any other vampire. Company that would side with her in the petty but dangerous squabbles of the court. Against her will, a hope was beginning to form in her heart. She was tired of being lonely.

Philomel stepped into the boat and picked up one of the oars, trying it out. "Is there anything that I should know before I meet your family?" she asked, knowing the answer would be yes.

"Well, they're vampires," said Serana. "And… my mother," the word sounded strange on her tongue, "may not be pleased to see me. My father though will be grateful you've helped me return. He may be intimidating, but he won't hurt you."

"That's a strange definition of grateful," Philomel remarked.

"The rest of the court schemes. Ignore them if you can, or avoid them."

"Court?" Philomel asked. "Not that it really matters to me, I'm not planning on staying any longer than it takes to make sure you're home safe." She patted the worn seat of the rowboat. "Come on, get in."

The trip across the waters was short.

The island castle looked no different from when Serana had last seen it those many, many years ago. The weather had not worn the pier nor had the tide washed away the shore. The home of the Volkihar was a place untouched by time. Trancelike, Serana stepped out of the rowboat and onto the beach. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew Philomel was behind her, walking up toward the fortress, but she didn't turn back to look at her or to speak. Crossing the bridge, she recognized every stone beneath her feet. Home.

Halfway across, she stopped and turned to Philomel. "I wanted to thank you for getting me this far. But after we go in, I'm not sure what will happen." Perhaps, she thought, Philomel shouldn't even enter the castle. No, not perhaps. The castle was no place for Philomel. Dragonborn or no, only vampires walked the halls of the Volkihar. But Serana didn't want to continue on alone either. "Once we're inside, just keep quiet for a bit. Let me take the lead."

The old watchmen at the gate challenged them, but was then rendered temporarily speechless upon recognizing Serana. "Lady Serana's back! Open the gate!" he called out. Gears turned and the heavy portcullis raised, inch by inch. "After all these years," the old man muttered to himself. "Lady Serana's back… Now that's something."

Serana stopped then, right at the threshold. Behind her was the world. And in front of her was the place she'd spent most of her adult life trying to escape. She felt a hand on her shoulder and flinched away before realizing it was just Philomel. The warrior smiled reassuringly while reaching for the door. "I'm sure they'll be glad to see you," the she whispered.

Serana pushed and the door swung open, revealing the entrance hall of the castle. A blast of warm air few out into the cold, accompanied by the dull buzz of conversation, punctuated by the occasional scream. It was meal time.

Within the keep, the first of the court to see them was Vingalmo, the Altmer snake, and he really only saw Philomel. "What are you doing trespassing here?" he demanded. Always polite. But then he noticed Serana and the horror on his face was priceless. "Wait… Lady Serana, is that really you? I cannot believe my eyes!" No doubt her arrival disturbed a great many plots. It was… good… that nothing ever changed.

He turned and walked to the balcony above the feasting hall, rushing to take credit for her arrival. "My lord! Everyone! Serana has returned!" Immediately every conversation in the hall fell silent and only the crackling of fires and the groaning of thralls sounded in the air.

Hesitant, Serana stepped out onto the balcony and then descended the stone stairs to the main floor. There were some seated at the long banquet tables whom she recognized, and many more whom she'd never seen in her life. Their faces ran the spectrum from shocked to confused to angry. A few of the thralls bound to the tables looked up with something akin to hope in their eyes, as if the unexpected turn of events might somehow be cause for their salvation. Serana did her best not to look at them and did her best not to fear what Philomel thought.

Instead, she gazed up to the high table. There was Harkon, standing with speechless mouth hanging open. But the chair beside him was empty.

Serana reached the center of the room. Judging by the sound of her footfalls, Philomel stopped somewhere slightly behind her. She took a steadying breath. "Father."

Harkon's mouth moved but no words emerged. After he collected himself, he said in booming voice that hinted at none of the conflict evident on his face, "My long lost daughter returns at last." He paused and cleared his throat. "And I trust you have my Elder Scroll?"

Cradled in her chest, Serana's unbeating heart broke. She swallowed, thought about not sounding bitter, and then didn't bother. "After all these years, that's the first thing you ask? Yes I have your scroll." She should have burned the damned thing, or buried it in the snow, or dropped it in a lake. A murmur rose throughout the hall. All anyone cared about was the scroll.

Harkon had the decency to shift his weight around awkwardly on his feet. "Of course I'm delighted to see you, my daughter. Must I really say the words aloud?"

Yes, Serana thought, you must.

But the king of the castle continued. "Ah, if only your traitor mother were here. I would let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike."

Serana tried not to picture Valerica's head anywhere except on her shoulders. At least, if Harkon wanted Valerica's head on a spike, her mother was still alive somewhere. "Where is Valerica?"

"She stole away with you and we haven't seen her since," Harkon said. "Though trust me, I looked." He paused. "For both of you. But that is not a conversation fit for such a joyous occasion. Now tell me, who is this stranger you've brought into our hall?"

"This is my savior, the one who freed me," Serana said. She pitched her voice to be condescending, to make it clear that it would be inappropriate to do anything violent. Though she'd assured herself nothing would happen to Philomel, now that she stood before Harkon, she wasn't sure he wouldn't do something drastic if the wrong idea passed through his head.

Thankfully, he said, "For my daughter's safe return, you have my gratitude. Tell me, what is your name?"

The warrior bowed politely. "I'm Philomel." The first words she spoke before the assemblage were in her customary whisper, though they carried enough to be heard. It was the first time Philomel had spoken and Serana hadn't felt power shiver across her skin. The woman must have been working very hard to keep herself quiet.

"I'm Harkon. Lord of this court. By now, my daughter will have told you what we are."

In the same carefully controlled voice, Philomel replied, "You're vampires."

Harkon frowned and gave Serana a pointed look. "Not just vampires," he said, pacing back and forth. "We are among the oldest and most powerful vampires in Skyrim. For centuries we lived here, far from the cares of the world. All that ended when my wife betrayed me and took away that which I valued most."

Your scroll, Serana thought.

"And for returning _her_ to me," he continued, "I think you deserve a reward. There is but one gift I can give that is equal in value to the Elder Scroll and my daughter. I offer you my blood. Take it and you will walk as a lion among sheep. Men will tremble at your approach and you will never fear death again."

Serana hadn't known exactly what Harkon would come up with, but she had suspected, even hoped.

"And if I refuse your gift?" Philomel asked.

"Then you will be prey, like all mortals. I will spare your life this once, but you will be banished from this hall. Perhaps you still need convincing? Behold the power!"

Serana winced and took a step back, motioning for Philomel to do the same. When Harkon transformed in a burst of blood, only a few drops reached them. Just like his human face, his bat-like features were exactly as Serana remembered them. Ugly. Ugly and melodramatic. Serana remembered the first time she had transformed. She had then looked into a mirror and sworn never to do it again unless she had to.

"This is the power that I offer! Now, make your choice."

Serana entertained images of slapping Harkon. He was powerful, but a poor negotiator. What kind of incentive was turning into an giant bat?

"I refuse," Philomel said quietly.

What if Serana had made the offer instead of Harkon? She was sure she could have done a better job.

"So be it," Harkon replied. "You are prey like all mortals. I banish you."

Philomel nodded. "Then I take my leave." She turned to Serana and nodded. "Serana. Divines watch over you. Should you ever need my aid, I am not difficult to find."

And then the Dragonborn walked out of Serana's life for the first time.


	4. Haar, part one

A/N: I'm using (SKYRIM) to indicate a linebreak since this site eats any punctuation-based linebreaks.

* * *

**At the Throat of the World – Chapter Three – Haar, part one  
**

* * *

When the Philomel had left, Harkon pulled Serana into a tight embrace, pressing her face into his chest, which the woman tried not to pull away from. Though it felt to her as if she'd last seen him only a week ago, she knew he'd not seen her for… for a very long time. Maybe he'd changed in that time (he hadn't, she knew). Maybe he had really thought his delight to see her again need not be stated. She could always hope.

When he released her, she realized that in the embrace, he'd taken the Elder Scroll from her back. Anger and frustration flashed through her and she reached out and snatched the scroll out of Harkon's surprised hands. "I think that after sleeping with that for a few years, it's mine. Like a baby blanket."

Harkon laughed in that deep, arrogant, bellow of his. "If you are really so attached to it, you may hold it for now, my dearest daughter. I expect it back in my study soon, however."

Well aware that she was throwing a tantrum in the middle of the hall with the entire court watching, Serana crossed her arms and stood her ground. "Is it so hard to pretend you care about me?"

Before she could react – he moved fast – Harkon's hand was on her shoulder and he was forcefully guiding her out of the hall. "Of course I care about you." No more words were spoken until they'd reached his study and closed the heavy wood door. Harkon sat down behind a desk and motioned toward a chair for his daughter.

Looking around Serana recognized nearly everything. There were the shelves of books, here the fireplace, there the map of Skyrim on the wall. Of all the rooms Harkon could have chosen, she was glad he'd chosen this one, though she was still none too pleased at how he'd dragged her along. He could have, for example, take them to his room. As nothing else in the castle had changed, Serana had no doubt he still kept a thrall pen and a rack near his coffin. As a child he'd forbidden her entrance. Once she was an adult, as if there were some magic age after which it didn't matter, he no longer cared.

"Serana, sit," Harkon said. She hadn't even realized she was still standing. Automatically at her father's command, she dropped into the wooden chair across from his desk. Once she was seated, he wasted no time in launching into his speech. "Serana, I have missed you very much." His tone was almost as wooden as her chair. "Even before that bitch stole you, I missed you. You haven't been my dear daughter in so long. But now your traitor mother is gone and we can be a family again, you and I. If I seemed overeager for my Elder Scroll, it was only because I have always thought you knew that you are my daughter. We are family. Do not challenge me. Not everyone in the court is as loving as I. If it seems that you oppose me…"

Even in those last nights before she slept, Serana had never felt Harkon would hurt her on purpose. The one time had been an accident. But Harkon was a man too deep in his schemes not to know what he'd just said. Serana nodded mutely.

"Serana, your entire life I have worked to create the best possible world for you. I don't know what went wrong. I don't know why you try to keep such a distance from me. I have given you everything I could, and I will give you the world with that Elder Scroll. The way you treat me makes it very difficult for me to remember this." He finished his speech, stood, and left the room.

Serana sat in the uncomfortable chair, alone with Harkon's Elder Scroll. When she'd collected her thoughts, she too left the room. She followed the well-known path to her room and then hesitated outside the door. In her long absence, had someone else taken it? When she touched the door handle, her fingers came away with a thick layer of dust on them. No one had taken it, at least not recently. She opened the door, stepped in, and closed it behind her. There were no lights in the windowless room except for the thin beam that came in from around the edges of the door. That was more than enough.

No one had touched her things.

The castle was lonely.

Serana walked to the bed and lay down. Just as the last time she'd lain there, she cried herself to sleep.

(SKYRIM)

Serana woke to an empty castle. After traveling with Philomel, she'd become accustomed to rise with the sun instead of the moon. Walking through deserted hallways, the fortress felt less like a home and more like a prison.

Hungry, she went to the dining hall. The cattle who were scurrying about cleaning up the previous night's festivities froze when she entered. All of them avoided her eyes and did their best to blend in with the masonry.

Serana remembered that once, in that time before she slept, she'd had a favorite. He'd been a young Breton man, strong and handsome. Every now and then there'd been a flicker of fire in his eyes. He'd stayed alive because he was hers and the court knew not to touch what she'd bitten. She wondered who'd finally killed him after she vanished.

She cast her eyes over the various cattle cleaning the room. She finally settled on one across the room. Blond woman, Nord probably, with a passing resemblance to Philomel. Not nearly as pretty though. Serana drained the girl. She could pick a favorite later, if she picked one at all. She didn't think she would stay long and the cattle looked as if death would be a blessing.

And if she didn't stay long, where would she go? Probably out to explore the world. It had changed, of that there was no doubt, and she could probably fill centuries with exploring. But care gnawed at her. If Harkon really did want to be a family again, was this her only chance to set things right? And would he even let her leave with the Elder Scroll? Now that she had it, she knew that she didn't want him to have it. It made him obsess, and though his dreams of perpetual night were laughably apocalyptic there was no telling what trouble he might stir with the scroll.

Later that night, her worry only grew. It was a man named Orthjolf who approached her. She didn't remember him from before, though judging from the respect the court showed him, he was either powerful or old or, as was so often the case, both. "Lady Serana, it's a pleasure to meet you," he said. He was a huge man but otherwise nondescript except for how he leered. He leered so grossly it wasn't even flattering.

Serana's eyes narrowed as he sized her up. "My face is up here."

"That it is," he replied. "It's quite beautiful, but even so, the rest of you far outshines it."

Serana was frozen, trying to decide if she'd heard him correctly and, if so, whether she should slap him or shove an ice spike through his groin. While she stood speechless, he continued.

"It's good to see a new body around here, especially one not shaped like an Elf. Between you and me, there's too many of them. Can't trust the lot of them. Never could."

Giving up, temporarily, on her fantasies of violence, Serana asked, "Is there a reason you're talking to me… whoever you are?"

"Orthjolf, at your service," he said. "I came because Harkon asked to see you. He said he's in his room."

As impolitely as she could, Serana walked away. Orthjolf. One more reason to leave the castle as soon as she could.

Harkon wasn't in his book room so, much to her displeasure, Serana went to his actual room. Harkon was sitting there in a gaudy throne before his crackling hearth. In a corner, there was a dying woman chained to his rack. Swallowing down the bile in her throat, Serana ignored the quiet sobbing. "Some lecherous oaf told me you wanted to see me," she said.

Harkon chuckled. "You mean Orthjolf? He's a character. His bickering with Vingalmo is always amusing."

"He's a creep," Serana said. She remained by the door, not wanting to go too far into the room, too near to the poor woman. Had the cattle ever bothered her so much before?

"We all have our faults," Harkon said magnanimously. "But Orthjolf isn't why I summoned you." He paused dramatically and gazed into his fire.

Impatient, Serana pressed, "So why did you ask for me?"

"I was thinking about you and my scroll. The scroll is useless if it is unread and I thought you'd like to be included in my plans. There are rumors that a Moth Priest is traveling in Skryim. Find him, enthrall him, and bring him back to read the scroll."

"You have minions for this sort of thing," Serana pointed out. Harkon had never before asked her to do anything.

"I do have minions. Your friend Orthjolf is one of them," Harkon said. "But now I have a daughter again, whom I trust." He stood and walked over to Serana, enclosing one of her hands in both of his. "Will you do this for me? Anyone else in this court would fight over the right to do this for me, but you are family. I would much rather you do this than any of them. This does concern family, after all. With the Elder Scroll, we could find Valerica again."

Serana's mind quickened. It seemed Harkon would kill Valerica if given the chance, but what if she could persuade him first? Maybe she could bring them together, so they could be a family again. If she had the scroll and the priest, maybe she could find Valerica first. "Fine then." Serana crossed her arms. Her eyes flickered over to Harkon's victim. "But I have a condition. Kill that poor woman and get rid of that rack."

Harkon kissed her on the forehead. "Done. You need only have asked." He turned and walked to the woman. In a single swing, he ripped her throat out.

(SKYRIM)

Serana started her search in the inns of Skyrim, looking for some morsel of gossip that might set her on the right trail. The houses of wanderers had changed little over the centuries. The same sorts still inhabited them, adventurers, soldiers, bandits, townsfolk, and prostitutes. None of whom had heard anything about a Moth Priest, no matter how much gold they saw or how many threats she meted out.

After a week of walking from village to village asking passerby and couriers and all sorts she met, Serana gave up on finding the Moth Priest herself. Instead, she tried for someone much easier to track down.

On the road to Markarth, she stopped a passing guard. He looked thin beneath his armor, and short as well, probably no older than a child. The helmet he wore seemed to slide around whenever he moved his head too much and his green painted shield was as large as his arm.

"Can I help you, miss?" the boy asked.

"I hope," said Serana. "Do you know where I can find the Dragonborn?"

"Oh, that's easy," said the guard. "The Dragonborn lives in Whiterun, the city. Have you ever been to Whiterun, miss?"

Serana nodded. "Once or twice, a long time ago."

"That's fantastic," said the boy in armor. "I want to go there someday."

Serana tried to smile. "I'm sure you will, someday. Stay safe."

"Thanks miss," said the guard. "You stay safe too." He waved as she walked away.

Serana spent the rest of her journey to Whiterun wondering what would become of the boy.

The guards at the gate of Whiterun were not children. "Halt," one of them called out. "What business do you have here?"

"I've come to see the Dragonborn," Serana answered.

The guard scoffed. "That's what they all say. What do you want with her anyway?"

"She helped me out of a cave a little while ago," Serana said. "She said I could visit."

"Do you even know her name?" the guard asked.

"She said she was Philomel," Serana said.

The guard looked like he was going to continue his belligerence, but the other guard said something quietly to him and then called for the gate to be opened. "It's the house on the right just after the blacksmith's," he said. "You can't miss it."

Serana thanked that guard, but not his fellow, and entered the city. She followed the main road and found the house easily enough. A small wooden sign by the door announced the building was named "Breezehome." A child had drawn a crude picture of a dragon in red wax next to the letters. Serana knocked on the door.

There was a crash from inside the home and a scrambling of feet. The door practically few open, revealing a young boy in a rich blue tunic with gold trim. He was beaming with the innocent joy that only a child could muster, though upon seeing Serana whatever he'd been about to say died on his lips and his face fell. "You're not my mom."

Behind him, a woman with shoulder length brown hair and a small braid framing her face appeared. She looked tired and more than a little annoyed. She was wearing house clothes, but had a sword at her side.

"I'm sorry," Serana said quickly. "I must have the wrong house."

The woman put a protective hand on the boy's shoulder and gently pushed him back into the house. "If you're looking for the Dragonborn, she's gone out to take care of a giant problem a little ways west of here."

"Yes, I am," said Serana. "She helped me a few weeks ago and I was hoping she'd help me again."

"She'll be back soon, it wasn't that far. You can go wait by the blacksmith if you want. I won't invite you in." The woman gestured up to Serana's eyes.

"You do know that's just a myth," Serana said, confirming the woman's suspicions.

"I am sworn to defend this house. Better safe than sorry."

Serana nodded. The woman must be a housecarl, and she was a prickly housecarl, at that. "I understand."

The blacksmith was one of the first buildings inside the gates and Serana could see that, waiting there, she'd be able to see anyone coming into the city. Once she'd explained herself to the dark-skinned woman, Adrianne Avenicci, who served as the town's regular blacksmith (there was another one, apparently, who worked only for the Companions at the Skyforge), Serana had been allowed to sit down at a bench in the shade.

"Do you know the Dragonborn?" Serana asked.

"As much as anyone," said Avenicci. "I taught her how to smith, you know. She was good at it, but now she never lifts a hammer. She sings to her steel, like one of the old Nord heroes. Never buys anything either, just sells things she finds adventuring."

"But there's a civil war, you must get more than enough business," Serana said.

"Of course. I may not be as good as Eorlund Gray-Mane, but the Imperials won't buy from him."

"You support the Imperials then?"

"Have you met my father?" Adrianne asked. "He's the steward, up at Dragonsreach. Jarl Balgruuf supports the Imperials, and so do we. If the Stormcloaks win, they won't buy from me because I'm not a Nord."

"Who does the Dragonborn support?" Serana asked.

"The Dragonborn? Why don't you ask her yourself," Adrianne said, pointing to the gate, which was just then opening.

"Serana!" Philomel called in greeting. Every metal piece not nailed down rattled at the words.

One of the guards tapped Philomel on the shoulder. "Can you stop all that shouting? It makes people nervous."

Philomel grinned sheepishly in apology. She walked over to Serana and bowed. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I need your help with something," Serana said.

"Then my help you shall have," said Philomel. "Why don't you come home with me. I can introduce you to my family while I…" She gestured at her leather armor, which was drenched in dried blood and covered in caked mud. "Freshen up."

Philomel drew up a bucket of water from the stream near the gate and then they walked together back to Breezehome. Upon opening the door, Philomel was tackled by the boy from earlier, who embraced her with no care for his nice clothes. "Mom!" The boy was slight enough that Philomel didn't spill her water.

The brown haired woman wasn't far behind the boy. "Alesan, you'll ruin your shirt!"

Standing just outside the doorway, Philomel ruffled his hair. "We can just buy a new one. Zenithar knows, we can afford it," she said in the whisper that Serana now recognized as Philomel's best inside voice. "Serana, my son, Alesan, my companion, Lydia."

Serana ignored Lydia giving her the evil eye. "I didn't realize you were married."

"We're not," said Lydia. There was an edge of something in her voice that Serana couldn't quite lay her finger on.

When Serana glanced questioningly at her, Philomel just shrugged and avoided eye contact. The Dragonborn looked down at Alesan and pulled out a few gold coins. "Go buy venison for dinner from the butcher. I need to clean up." She took the water she'd brought and left Lydia and Serana standing awkwardly in the main room of the house.

"So… you and Philomel," Serana tried.

"What about us?" Lydia asked defensively.

"Alesan is your son together?"

"Is that your business?" Lydia challenged.

From elsewhere in the house, Philomel's voice drifted, seeming to come from right next to them. "Be nice."

Lydia grimaced, then visibly relaxed. "Sorry," she grunted. "I don't like strangers."

"I understand," said Serana.

"Alesan is our son. Philomel found him working at the Dawnstar mine and we adopted him."

"He looks like he'll grow into a fine young man," Serana said politely. Small talk was difficult.

"If he grows up," replied Lydia. "Skyrim is dangerous these days."

"I'm sure he'll make it. His mother is the Dragonborn, surely there's no safer place for him."

Lydia stiffly gestured for Serana to sit at one of the chairs around the fire pit. "She's gone so often that I worry. And inside, one wrong word…"

"You're her housecarl, correct?" Serana said. Lydia nodded. "So it's only natural that you be concerned. If you didn't worry, you wouldn't be doing your job."

"It's just that she-

Philomel cleared her throat loudly to announce her presence. The Dragonborn was standing by the dinner table wearing a long green dress.

Lydia, who herself had never sat down, frowned. "You didn't take the time to wash your armor."

Philomel winced.

"I am sworn to carry your burdens," said Lydia. "And to do your laundry."

Philomel shook her head vigorously.

"Pardon us," said Lydia, smiling. "I need to get to her laundry before she can." As if at some invisible signal, both Lydia and her thane went sprinting off through a door in the back of the house, leaving Serana sitting by herself at their hearth.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, she got up and went to look around the room. By the door was a set of shelves that had some dinnerware and a row of books – histories mostly, and songs. Near to that was a weapons rack, which displayed several enchanted pieces that gave off a faint ethereal glow. A few herbs hung from the ceiling, drying. On the other side of the room was a dinner table, and hanging on the wall by the table -

Serana gasped when she recognized the Elder Scroll. Not quite in control of herself, she approached it. Surely it was real. Who would hang a fake Elder Scroll on their wall? Then again, who would hang an Elder Scroll on their wall. The Dragonborn, apparently.

"That's my mom's Elder Scroll!"

Entranced by the scroll, Serana hadn't even heard the boy come back with his bag of meat for dinner. "Do you know where she got it from?" Serana asked.

"She found it in a Dwemer ruin," said Alesan. "And then she used it to kill Alduin."

"Who was this Alduin?"

The little boy gasped and covered his open mouth with his hands in mock horror. "You don't know about Alduin?"

"No, I don't," Serana said. She smiled at the child. "Why don't you tell me?"

Alesan lit up at the chance to show off. "The bards wrote a song about it! I can sing it." He straightened up and cleared his throat.

"Alduin's wings, they did darken the sky  
His roar fury's fire, and his scales sharpened scythes.  
Men ran and they cowered, and they fought and they died.  
They burned and they bled as they issued their cries.

We need saviors to free us from Alduin's rage.  
Heroes on the field of this new war to wage.  
And if Alduin wins, man is gone from this world.  
Lost in the shadow of the black wings unfurled.

But then came the Tongues on that terrible day.  
Steadfast as winter, they entered the fray.  
And all heard the music of Alduin's doom.  
The sweet song of Skyrim, sky-shattering Thu'um.

And so the Tongues freed us from Alduin's rage.  
Gave the gift of the Voice, ushered in a new Age.  
If Alduin is eternal, then eternity's done.  
For his story is over and the dragons are gone."

Serana applauded. "That's very good."

Alesan blushed and gave her a toothy grin. "When we go camping, my mom can sing it and play at the same time. I can't do that yet."

"I'm sure you'll be able to someday."

"But not if he keeps skipping his lessons to play with the mudcrabs," Lydia cut in. Beside her, Philomel nodded in agreement.

"I didn't-

"I saw you," Lydia said. "Now come help me make dinner."

Alesan rolled his eyes and headed over to the small fire pit where Lydia was already setting up to begin cooking.

Philomel then sat down at the table and turned to Serana. She tilted her head to the side – a question.

"I've been looking for a Moth Priest to read my Elder Scroll," Serana said honestly. "I heard there was one in Skyrim, but I haven't been able to find any leads. I thought that an adventurer like you might be better at this."

Philomel nodded. And then she stared straight into Serana's eyes and raised an eyebrow.

Serana pursed her lips, contemplating the answer. "Harkon asked me to find the priest."

Philomel crossed her arms over her chest. Closed off, aggressive body language.

"We want to use it to find my mother," Serana said. Every time she used that word it seemed no less strange than the last time. "But I have a plan. If I can just find her, then talk to them both… I want my family again." She tilted her head toward where Lydia and Alesan were roasting the venison. "Surely you understand."

Philomel drummed her fingers on the tabletop.

If Serana hadn't traveled with Philomel for several days after waking from her cave, she doubted she would have been able to read the other woman's body language so well. "No, I'm not sure," Serana replied. "But I need to try."

Finally, Philomel spoke, her words nothing more than a whisper but still filled with enough power to raise the hairs on Serana's arms. "If I help, he reads your scroll here. You can't take him back to that castle," Philomel said. Serana hadn't noticed before, but the strain of speaking so quietly brought beads of sweat to the Dragonborn's forehead.

"Done," Serana said. "I think it's for the best. I can hear what he says before Harkon does."

"He'll be here tomorrow or the day after," Philomel said. When Serana looked surprised, Philomel pointed up to the Elder Scroll hanging on the wall.

Dinner was awkward for Serana, to say the least. She sat at the table and watched the humans eat their food. As the only guest and the only one not eating, it fell to her to keep a conversation running, though only Lydia and Alesan were able to freely speak indoors.

"Tell us about yourself," said Lydia. She took a particularly vicious bite of meat and Serana wondered if the housecarl was picturing the vampire's head on the plate in front of her.

"I'm not sure there's much to say," Serana replied. She was a guest in the house and she already knew so much about them that it didn't seem fair to withhold about herself. Nevertheless, she didn't feel comfortable telling all three of them her life story. She didn't feel comfortable telling anyone her life story.

"How did you get your eyes like that?" Alesan asked.

Serana self-consciously raised a hand toward her face. Long suppressed memories clawed at the back of her mind. "I… paid a very high price for them."

"Like, how high?" the boy pressed.

"So high you can't understand," said Serana, doing her best to avoid answering. "Perhaps when you're older."

"That's what everyone says about everything," the child huffed. "I think your eyes are cool. I want eyes like that."

Lydia and Serana spoke in unison, "No you don't." For her part, Philomel nodded agreement with the other adults.

"Your eyes are too pretty to change," Lydia said.

"Are you saying her eyes aren't pretty?" asked the boy, knowing full well that he was being stubborn.

Lydia's reply was smooth and quick, "Not as pretty as yours."

Alesan laughed, satisfied with his outcome. "My parents are great. Do you like my parents?"

"Yes, I do like your parents," said Serana, continuing to humor him.

"Do you have parents?" he asked.

"Everyone has parents, Alesan," Lydia said.

"Tell me about your parents," the boy demanded.

Philomel cleared her throat and the silverware on the table rattled.

"No, it's fine. I can talk about them," Serana said, as much to herself as to anyone at the table. "Vale-my mother, everyone says I look just like her. She wears her hair up though, and she looks older."

"Well duh," said Alesan. "She's your mom, of course she looks older." Lydia shushed him.

"She's a very stern woman," Serana continued. "She doesn't smile often. She's very intelligent and she likes experimenting in her alchemy lab." She's very sad, Serana thought. She's disappointed in her family. She's willing to lose them if they're in her way.

"What about your dad?"

"My father is strong. He likes to dream big. He's very concerned about our family. And he-

"So he's like my mom the Dragonborn," Alesan finished.

"A little bit," Serana admitted. "But my father doesn't always remember to be kind and I don't think your mom ever forgets." A strange thought twisted in her mind – Alesan had the family she wished she could have had.

Philomel chuckled.

"Alesan, come clean the dishes and get ready for bed," Lydia said. "Here, I'll help you." The two of them cleared the table and took the bowls over to a small basket of things to be washed the next day.

"Spare room," Philomel offered, pointing upstairs.

Serana shook her head. "No thank you. The inn isn't that far from here and I don't think Lydia would appreciate it if I stayed the night here."

Philomel shrugged and rolled her eyes. "Dinner at the inn?"

"Oh, no, I…" Serana caught herself stumbling over her words, caught herself almost apologizing for herself. What a strange and unwelcome feeling. "I mean, I do need to get dinner, but I didn't, or, well…" She finally just gave up trying to explain herself. Philomel was a fairly intuitive person, she'd understand.

Philomel nodded and gave her a small smile. She understood.

Thankful that the awkward conversations were behind her, Serana let herself out.

The inn of Whiterun was at the end of the main street that Breezehome was located on. It was much larger than any of the roadside inns that Serana had stayed in on her way to the city, though it was no cleaner. By the time she arrived, the patrons had settled into their cups for the night and were drunkenly singing and dancing all around the main room. A few warrior types were seated at the fringes, probably sell-swords hired to protect someone, or people too paranoid to let their guard down in revelry.

Serana picked her way through the sweaty mass of humanity to the woman behind the bar, whom she assumed was the innkeeper. Waving to get her attention, Serana said, "Excuse me, I'd like a room for the night."

The innkeeper shoved a tankard of ale at one of her patrons and turned to Serana. "I'm sorry, we're sold out for the night. It's not much, but for three gold I can give you a mat in the kitchen."

Serana pulled out her purse, which was starting to thin after her week of traveling. "Very well."

Before she could hand over the money, a man put his big hand over hers. "If it's a bed you want, I've already paid for one – if you're willing to share," he said. Another hand went around her shoulders.

Serana didn't really look at him, didn't notice his face or the color of his hair or his clothes, before she kneed him hard enough that his eyes – they were blue – rolled back into his head and he collapsed on the floor.

The innkeeper and Serana both looked down at the pile of man on the floor. "He did already pay," said the innkeeper. "And he did just offer you his room. And I don't think he's in any condition to get there tonight."

Serana thanked the innkeeper, bent down, and removed the man's key from his pocket. When she stood back up, the room broke out into applause.

A Nord man in heavy steel armor came over and pushed some gold across the bar. "Hulda, a drink for the lady," he said.

As he stood next to Serana, it occurred to her that he smelled overwhelmingly of dog. "You saw what happened to the last one," she said cautiously. The innkeeper, Hulda, handed her a cup of ale. She would need to discretely pour it out somewhere.

The man laughed. "I'm not trying anything," he said. "I'm Farkas."

"Serana," she replied. If he wasn't trying anything, then what was he doing?

"You know Serana, the Companions are taking new members. We-" He was cut off by the arrival of a very similar looking man, also clad in steel.

"Farkas, we need to go," the new man said.

"Think about it," said Farkas before the other man rushed him away.

Somewhat bewildered by the whole exchange, Serana took her ale and retreated to the room she'd taken from the letch at the bar. There wasn't much to say of the room. It had a bed and a small table and dresser. It was clearly intended for passing travelers, not long-term residents. Tired, Serana lay down and closed her eyes.

Although she normally would have slept during daylight hours, she'd taken to traveling during the day and sleeping at night because she felt safer letting her guard down when she was less likely to be seen and more able to defend herself if attacked. Her dreams since Philomel had found her in the crypt had been unmemorable, but that night the darkness in the back of her mind stirred again.

She was walking through dark woods, through the fjords of Haafinger, just south-east of Solitude. Far off in the distance, elevated above the horizon, flecks of light marked out the Blue Palace. The shadows that she normally could see through easily were dense and suffocating. Everywhere she looked there were only black shapes, hardly distinguishable from whatever lay behind them.

And then there were footsteps behind her, the sound of mud sticking to leather boots walking near. Serana knew she had to get away from them. If they caught her, it would all be over. She quickened her step, afraid to dash headlong through the dark, but the same mud that made the following footsteps so loud kept her from fleeing. She pulled at her feet and little by little they came free, but every step was a struggle and the footsteps were far faster than her.

Serana threw out a hand and grabbed onto a nearby sapling, trying to pull herself out of the mud, but to no avail. The rough back under her fingers shifted and flowed, reaching out to encircle her wrist and scrape at her skin. The tree yanked her arm, but her feet were still caught and she was stretched out, trapped in the wilderness.

The footsteps ceased but now she felt the hot breath of something on the place where her neck met her shoulders. Slowly she turned her head.

Serana woke to a dark, and mercifully empty, room. Unable and unwilling to sleep again, she rose from the bed and walked to the tiny window of the room. After examining it she found the latch and pushed the glass open, letting the cold night air come streaming in. It was a comfort on burning skin. Far above, the stars twinkled.

(Skyrim)

_The wind howled and Serana looked up at the sky. She knew it was day, but the sun was hidden so completely it may as well have been night. A light sprinkling of snow was falling from the clouds. She drew her cloak closer to her body._

_How much time remained?_

_Serana quickened her step._


End file.
